


Those Fries Aren't Delicious and I Don't Love You

by CrazyTaraWitch



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/F, Swan-Mills Family, Swan-Mills-Charming Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-11 16:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2075754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyTaraWitch/pseuds/CrazyTaraWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the first meal, Emma suggests they make it a regular thing. Family dinners, twice a week.</p><p>The routine becomes a more pleasant one than she’d care to admit. It’s only the chance to be around her son that makes the time bearable of course; she certainly doesn’t enjoy the way Snow smiles at her warmly or the understanding in Emma’s eyes when she notices her watching Henry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m taking some liberties with the timeline and pretending season 3B happen over the course of a few months. Minimal Robin/OQ and a mention of Hook/CS, but this story is definitely about Swan Queen/Swan-Mills-Charming Family

After the first meal, Emma suggests they make it a regular thing. Family dinners, twice a week. Regina scoffs, but there was never any doubt of her accepting. It’s time with Henry.

“Fine,” she eventually relents, voice tight and arms across her chest, “but I won’t have him eating at Granny’s twice a week. You can come here where I can feed him properly.”

“You’d be willing to have my parents here?”

Regina purses her lips. “For the sake of our son’s health, you’ll find I can endure a great many things, Miss Swan. He deserves to have a decent meal, something that _won’t_ cause him a heart attack at 30.”

“Come on Regina, the kid _likes_ Granny’s. And so do you.”

“I beg your pardon?” she asks with a quirked brow.

Emma smiles mischievously. “I saw you scarfing down those fries last week.”

“I was merely trying to make Henry comfortable,” she asserts stiffly.

“Well Granny’s makes him comfortable.”

They finally agree on Granny’s for Sundays and Regina’s for Thursdays. Regina is unaccustomed to compromise, but knowing Emma’s hard-headed stubbornness, if she doesn’t relent she’ll be stuck arguing all day. She only gives in to avoid prolonging her time in the Savior’s company, not because she’s going soft. And certainly not because those fries were delicious.

~

The routine becomes a more pleasant one than she’d care to admit. It’s only the chance to be around her son that makes the time bearable of course; she certainly doesn’t enjoy the way Snow smiles at her warmly or the understanding in Emma’s eyes when she notices her watching Henry. It has nothing to do with having a few less hours of her week spent alone, nothing to do with liking the company of _Charmings_. Because she doesn’t. Snow is insipid and Charming’s jokes are unsophisticated drivel that she certainly doesn’t laugh at. She spends as much time rolling her eyes as eating.

But she also hears stories of New York, of Henry’s school and his friends and the books he reads. She feels unsettled when he mentions his upcoming audition for the school band (he’s hoping for drums; Emma’s hoping for anything quiet enough to avoid noise complaints), but Emma looks at her with soft eyes and she tries to hold on to the fact that he’s here now; she won’t lose him again.

It’s bittersweet to see the easy affection that passes between Henry and Emma now. Regina had long been jealous of the generosity of the hugs he gave his birthmother, but there had been a time she had found small victories in Emma’s discomfort at his displays. Now she touches their son as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, wrapping an arm around him or ruffling his hair or nudging his shoulder, or (much to his embarrassment) even kissing him on the forehead. And Regina finds that she’s happy for them, mostly; happy for Henry that the memories and the life she gave him include a mother that adores him.

It just hurts to be reminded that that mother isn’t her.

~

After she begins spending time with Robin, Regina finds that family dinners are still her favourite nights of the week. Proof that it was never a matter of loneliness, she tells herself; it was never a matter of enjoying the company of those idiots, because she certainly prefers Robin’s easy presence to the constant bickering between she and Emma or the way Snow fawns over her as if she’s her infuriatingly doting step-daughter once more.

It’s only about Henry, it’s only ever been about Henry. Not the way Emma Swan catches her gaze and joins in her eye rolls when her parents are being particularly nauseating in their discussions of placenta and car seats, or the way David’s taken to placing a gentle hand against her back as she watches Henry walk out the door, or the way Emma helps her clear the table on the nights they eat at the manor, taking a quiet moment to check in and ask if she’s okay. Regina doesn’t _like_ those things; she merely tolerates them for Henry’s sake. If not for him, she’d much rather spend time with Robin, and Roland. The idiots certainly aren’t her family or her support.

~

Henry asked to stay with her after his memories came back, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so happy.

Two days later it’s Thursday, and a few minutes passed 6 she hears the doorbell. She’s surprised to find a beaming Snow and slightly sheepish Emma on her porch, Charming hanging back slightly.

“I brought desert!” Snow exclaims cheerfully. “Pumpkin pie. I know it’s one of Henry’s favourites.”

Regina stands in the doorway just a moment too long before stepping aside to let them enter. She had thought these dinners were only to give her, and his grandparents, time with Henry while his memories were gone, so he could get to know them and to provide a little stability in an unfamiliar (and, even with everyone working to hide their magic, undeniably _strange_ ) town. Yet here they are.

It’s still about time with Henry. Obviously. Emma’s gotten used to spending every day with him, after their year in New York and 10 years of memories before that. She simply misses him. Regina supposes –for Henry’s sake of course—she can continue to bear a few hours a week in the presence of Emma and the two idiots. It’s not as if she _enjoys_ being around them, or likes the deserts Snow brings each Thursday.

~  
With Henry’s memories returned, Robin can’t understand why his presence is unwelcome. His hurt only seems to grow when she points out these are family dinners. She feels a slight twinge of guilt, but remains firm; these meals are for Henry, for his family. Not _their_ family, not _her_ family; Emma and the idiots are _not_ her family. Her family is Henry, and someday, she hopes, Robin and Roland. It’s only about Henry, and much as she wants him to know Robin, these dinners aren’t about that.

She only enjoys family nights—and that’s what they’ve become increasingly often, with Emma staying after her parents leave to help clean dishes and then _somehow_ winding up on Regina’s couch next to Henry, begging her to watch whatever dreadful action movie or mediocre children’s cartoon they’ve selected for the evening, while Emma comments on every explosion and Regina makes scathing remarks and they all eat popcorn and it’s not remotely comfortable—because they delight Henry. She doesn’t like the baby or the way Snow hands him to her every chance she gets, no matter what Emma Swan’s stupidly twinkling eyes seem to suggest; and she certainly doesn’t get any satisfaction from ensuring that Emma has a home-cooked meal once a week.

She doesn’t _care_ about these people, or about the fact Charming still touches her gently by way of goodbye, even now that their dinners don’t end with the pain of watching Henry walk away. She doesn’t care about Snow, and when she offers to calm Neal it’s only to avoid disruption, not because she can see the new-parent exhaustion on the younger woman’s face. She’s only making her own evening more peaceful, not _helping_.

And when the baby smiles up at her for the first time, Regina’s certainly not hiding a smile of her own.

 


	2. Chapter 2

She notices the car outside just before 6 o’clock on the first Thursday after Marian returns. The yellow monstrosity is hard to miss. For Emma Swan to be early, she must be trying desperately to get on her good side.

Regina stiffens and walks to Henry’s room with purpose.

“I thought we’d eat at Granny’s tonight,” she suggests, and Henry whips his head around to stare at her in confusion. He scans her face, and she can see him deciding not to comment; he’s probably too relieved at her wanting to leave the house for the first time in days.

It’s not weakness that’s kept her inside; she’s not been sitting in her room crying, or raging at the world, or even forming a plan of attack. She’s simply made the logical decision to avoid the unpleasant risk of running into people she’d rather avoid, such as the woman currently parked outside her home waiting for the next 10 minutes to pass.

Regina hurries Henry along, and they’re heading out the door just as the clock begins to strike. Emma hasn’t left her car yet, but Henry looks at her in confusion and just a hint of hope when he sees the Bug. “What’s Emma doing here? Is she coming to dinner with us?”

“I have no idea what your  _mother_ ,” she spits the word as if it tastes vile when applied to the blonde, “is doing, but it’s no concern of mine. Or yours,” she adds tightly, directing him to their car. “You will see her tomorrow, and if you so choose you may ask her then why she is stalking our home.”

Henry huffs but says nothing as he walks around the side of the car and gets in the passenger seat. He remains quiet throughout the short drive to the diner; unbidden, Regina recalls the times a younger Henry would sit in the back seat and tell her all about his days, happy and carefree and loving no one in the world more than her. She knows that had begun to change even before Emma had come to Storybrooke, but it’s so much easier to simply blame the woman who has once again ruined her life.

In one moment she had lost the man she was beginning to care for, his son who was so easy to love, and her last chance for a happy ending. She certainly hadn’t lost anything else; having no more obligation to play nice with Emma Swan and the  _un_ Charmings was the only good thing to come from this. Henry’s silence won’t last forever, and then they’ll return to being a family of two, as it was always meant to be. He can have his other family without her; she certainly won’t miss them.

~

Another week has passed when she hears the tentative knock at her door. Dinner’s cooking on the stove and her only thought is to send away whoever is at the door quickly so she can return to her task. Her hand is on the doorknob before she realizes it’s 10 after 6 on a Thursday.

Except for a glimpse of golden hair through her car window last week, Regina hasn’t seen the newly reinstated Sheriff since the night of Emma’s trip to the Enchanted Forest. It’s been a relief, truly. And when she decides to open the door, it’s only so she can tell the stubborn woman to leave her alone, and perhaps vent a little of the anger that she’s kept tightly leashed until now. It is in no way because she  _wants_  to see Emma Swan or her absurd puppy-dog eyes that plead for a forgiveness Regina has no desire to offer. It’s not because she  _misses_  her, not because she cares.

Because Regina Mills does not care; she refuses to care anymore about anyone or anything other than Henry. Robin was a pleasant distraction when she didn’t have Henry and a pleasant addition to her life once she had him back—and Emma, Emma’s not even that. Emma Swan is not pleasant. She’s not agreeable or polite or easy. She’s a thunderstorm, an undeniable force of nature that disrupts everything in its path, bringing life and destruction in equal parts, leaving some lands fertile and others flooded, and Regina—Regina is a fire that never knows if it’s going to be doused by the rain or sparked to new flame by a strike of lightning. And Regina certainly doesn’t feel her heart skip a beat when she opens the door to Emma’s tentative, hopeful smile and what looks to be a cheesecake in her arms—and if her chest constricts at the sight it’s only in anger.

“Miss Swan,  _what_  are you doing here?” She’s pleased at the bite in her voice and takes satisfaction in the way Emma cringes, but she waits for a reply. It’s only manners that keep her from slamming the door in the blonde’s face—manners and the desire to finally convince her to stay away for good.

Shifting nervously from foot to foot, she says with just enough uncertainty to make it a question, “It’s family night?”

“You are  **not**  my family,” she scoffs, and when Emma looks down at that, the twinge she feels is one of triumph. Not guilt, or sadness at anything that was or might have been.

It’s hard to tell in the dim porch light, but when Emma meets her gaze again she thinks there’s a slight flush to the pale cheeks. “And what about Henry?”

“I wasn’t aware that I was keeping you from him,” Regina replies icily. Of course it’s about Henry. There’s nothing else left between them—there never was anything else, it’s always been only Henry. “You just had him for the whole weekend Miss Swan, and if I’m not mistaken he spent the entire afternoon playing swords with your father. I have done nothing to keep him from you or your idiot parents; I simply do not want you in my house or in my life.”

“Regina,” Emma sighs, looking tired. Regina tries to revel in seeing her weakened, but all she feels is her own exhaustion at the same push and pull they’ve played a dozen times. And suddenly it’s not about vengeance anymore or about pushing Emma away out of anger; she’s just so  _tired_ , tired of fighting, tired of hurting, tired of losing everything because of Emma Swan, tired of feeling betrayed by the one person she—

Emma’s looking down again when she speaks next, and her voice is quiet, almost timid. “Doesn’t Henry deserve a family? Don’t…” Her eyes flicker up to Regina’s then back to the ground, and her voice shrinks further. “Don’t we deserve a family?”

“Henry is my family.” There’s no malice in her words now, only a simple weariness. “You have our son and your parents, Emma, and your pirate. What more do you want?”

Emma stills and when her gaze meets Regina’s there’s lightning in her eyes. “You.” Emma takes a step closer, until the desert in her hands is nearly touching the woman before her, while Regina stands frozen. “I want you, Regina.”

Regina tries to think about what Emma’s really saying, tries to think about what she wants and what Henry needs, but all can see is blue eyes swirling with a desire that matches the way her stomach flips at the sight, and all she feels is Emma’s warm breath floating towards her through the evening chill.

She’s tired of being angry, tired of being hurt, tired of being  _tired_. When she grabs the front of Emma’s jacket and pulls her into a searing kiss, it’s only because she’s lonely, only because she’s tired of being alone. When one hand slides to the back of Emma’s neck to bring her closer still, ignoring the pain from the desert now pressing into her still-swirling stomach, it’s only because it’s easier than fighting. Not because Emma had looked so beautiful and so sad that all she’d wanted was to ease the hurt; not because Emma smells of vanilla and tastes of cinnamon and feels like velvet under her fingers and tongue and it’s all she can do to remember to breathe.

Regina doesn’t know how much time has passed when another smell reaches her, and she pulls away so suddenly Emma stumbles backwards. Regina grabs her arm to steady her, and then Emma is beaming at her so brightly she nearly forgets what had pulled her back to reality in the first place. The smoke alarm chooses that moment to kick off and remind her of her burning dinner, and then she’s rushing to the kitchen, a flushed and grinning Emma trailing behind her.

~

They wind up going to Granny’s once the kitchen is clean, leaving the windows open to let the smoke out. It’s a quiet dinner, but Regina doesn’t miss the way Henry watches his mothers, clearly wondering why they can’t stop glancing at each other across the table, and why Emma wears that ridiculous little smirk each time she looks away.

After they eat, Emma hesitantly suggests she should go home. Regina reminds her of the cheesecake she left at the house, and it’s only because she doesn’t want Snow showing up unannounced to collect her dish. Not because she doesn’t want Emma to go; not because even as she ate her salad she could remember the taste of Emma’s mouth, not because all she can think about is kissing Emma again and again.

They return to the manor and eat their desert and watch some inane superhero movie that she most certainly does  _not_  laugh at when the arrogant villain gets smashed to the ground, and no matter what Henry thinks it’s a grimace not a smile that graces her lips when the assassin outwits a god. And it’s all perfectly normal, she doesn’t sit any closer to Emma Swan than necessary and she doesn’t notice how Emma’s eyes keep darting to her lips. And when Henry goes to bed after the movie, she’s not remotely relieved when Emma stays.

She doesn’t care when Emma mentions, voice too casual not be forced, that she dumped Hook two days ago. And when their lips crash together and she pulls Emma tight against her, she doesn’t care about anything at all.

~

Two weeks pass before Emma tries to reinstate Sunday family dinners. She’s eaten dinner with them every night for a week, but she insists her parents miss Henry. Regina certainly doesn’t miss them, or the baby that looks far too much like Snow to be remotely cute.

“It’s just one night a week,” Emma argues. “Besides, you love Granny’s. And you love me.”

She denies both, but an hour later she nevertheless finds herself sitting in a booth sandwiched between her son and a very smug blonde. Emma watches her take her first bite and smirks.

“These fries aren’t delicious. And I don’t love you.”


End file.
